


keep this love in a photograph

by AlexiaBlackbriar13



Series: lexi’s season 8 fics [1]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Alternate Scene, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode: s08e01 Starling City, F/M, Gen, Mother-Son Relationship, Photographs, SPOILERS FOR 8x01
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-19
Updated: 2019-10-19
Packaged: 2020-12-24 09:56:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21097571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlexiaBlackbriar13/pseuds/AlexiaBlackbriar13
Summary: An alternate 8x01 scene.Moira suspects that there is more to her son than meets the eye when Oliver returns home from the island after twelve years.When she catches him with the photo he's carrying around of him with Felicity Smoak and a baby, a confrontation and an emotional conversation ensue.





	keep this love in a photograph

**Author's Note:**

> so i really wanted to write an alternate version of that scene of moira and oliver in his bedroom where moira finds out about felicity, mia and william..... and a lot of you on twitter really wanted me to as well, so i did :)
> 
> thanks to sam and cerys for reading this over xx
> 
> i hope you enjoy!!! i have been told to warn you to have a singular tissue ready and nearby, just in case

Moira knows as she watches her son, who has recently returned home from twelve years stranded on an island in the North China Sea, depart from dinner early with tensed shoulders and a haunted expression, that something is wrong.

She’s relieved, of course, that Oliver has returned to them. She wept with joy when she received the call from the American embassy in Hong Kong that he was found, and has cried every night since as she’s waited for him to be medically cleared and flown home. He’s finally here, and she finally held him in her arms; it felt at that moment as if she were living in the best dream. Moira can’t imagine what he’s been through, being forced to survive on a barren island for a dozen years alone - she knows that the experience would have changed him. That her son is undoubtedly damaged and traumatized by what happened to him. But there’s just… something wrong. Something wrong with him.

Oliver doesn’t act like a man who’s come home from twelve years on an island. Moira doesn’t know what she expected of him - maybe she thought her son would be half-feral, having lost all of his manners and social etiquette - but he’s adjusting remarkably quickly to anything. Too quickly. Although he’s often overwhelmed by emotion, especially when greeting Tommy and learning about Thea, he’s calm and collected at other times.

Then there’s the fact that he keeps bringing up random things, almost seems to expect changes that have occurred while he was away, despite the fact there’s no chance he could know about them. Moira finds herself perplexed, wondering why Oliver would ask where Walter Steele was when he arrived at the mansion. She remembers how he commented under his breath about cooking Raisa’s chicken masala for somebody called William. Then, the knowing look in his eyes when he brought up Moira and Malcolm’s marriage - and the judging, angry and even slightly fearful glance he shot the man when Malcolm greeted him at the door. Oliver came home… and he expected things to be different - but expected things to be different from how they are different.

It’s almost as if… no, that’s impossible. Moira shakes her head, focusing back on her meal. The meal that Oliver barely touched earlier. Malcolm and Tommy are having a conversation about taking Oliver to the office, and she tries to concentrate on what they’re saying to offer an opinion of her own, but her mind keeps wandering back to her son.

_It’s almost as if this isn’t HER Oliver._

When dessert is served, Moira excuses herself from the table, murmuring to Malcolm that she’s going to check on her son. He gives her a short nod, and Moira flashes Tommy a reassuring smile when he casts her a concerned glance. Taking the stairs slowly and heading to Oliver’s bedroom, she attempts to come up with a strategy for getting the rescued castaway to open up to her. Moira hesitates when she sees that his bedroom door is swung wide open. Perhaps this isn’t a good idea? Oliver must be exhausted, and maybe trying to get him to talk right now is too soon.

She’s about to turn around, regretting even thinking of doing this in the first place, but then she hears her son emit a heavy, tired sigh. He sounds as if he has the entire weight of the world on his shoulders. Oliver has been alone with his thoughts and stuck in his head for the past dozen years. He’s had absolutely nobody to speak to. No other human being to interact with, no one to offload his troubles onto and ask for advice from. Moira can be his confidant. She was before the island, and she can be now.

Moira raises her head and straightens her spine before peering around the doorframe. Oliver is seated on his bed, peering down at what appears to be a small piece of paper in his hand. A note? A photograph? Moira isn’t sure. He looks as if he’s on the verge of tears, his face crumpled with anguish. Whatever it is… it has upset him.

“Hey,” she says softly, waiting for his permission to come in.

Oliver doesn’t startle, but glances up at her hastily, stuffing whatever the piece of paper under the edge of his bed’s duvet. He wipes at his face and eyes and then offers her the weakest smile she’s ever seen.

“Hi,” he replies, his voice just as quiet as hers.

Taking that as permission, Moira enters the bedroom, clasping her hands nervously. Oliver observes her with the sharpness of a trained hunter. Her heart skips a beat as she tries to imagine her starving son spearing an animal on the island, killing it with his bare hands, to get food. But this isn’t the wilderness - Oliver isn’t some dangerous predator, nor is she his prey. She has to be cautious, of course, but Moira doubts she has to worry about him lashing out and attacking her.

She motions around the room. “Your bed has been made. And there are fresh towels in the bathroom.”

Her son tilts his head with a small smile. “Thank you.” But as soon as he breaks eye contact with her, that grin drops, leaving him appearing morose.

Moira scrutinizes him carefully. “I know the changes must be overwhelming,” she says sympathetically. “And you must feel like you're on a different planet or something.”

Oliver’s slips tick up into a slight smirk as he answers, as if she’s just made a joke of some kind, “You could say that,” with a chuckle.

All of her suspicions are being affirmed. The reason Oliver says that returning home is like he’s on a different planet is because… well. Moira remembers vaguely a scientific article that Malcolm had come raving to her about three years ago, about a STAR Labs scientist called Dr Cisco Ramon who discovered the existence of parallel worlds and Earths, with doppelgangers of all of them living different, alternate lives. Ramon theorized it would be possible to travel back and forth between them. Moira tries to keep her face blank as disbelief and fear washes over her. Is the man before her from one of those parallel Earths? Is it possible that her Oliver - the _real_ Oliver, or at least real for her - is dead and never survived the island, or never even made it there? If this Oliver _isn’t_ her Oliver, then why is he here? Why is he posing as this world’s Queen heir?

Moving further into the room, Moira approaches her son. “It couldn't have been easy all those years on that island.”

Just thinking about her boy struggling all alone to find shelter to stay warm and out of the freezing rain and storms, desperately attempting to collect fresh water and track down food sources to avoid a slow and painful death of either dehydration or starvation… it’s horrifying. And it doesn’t matter whether this is her Oliver or not - she wouldn’t wish any of that on anybody.

Oliver doesn’t offer her anything. Instead, his expression becomes sad and he just replies simply, “Sounds like it wasn't that easy here.”

That’s an understatement. Moira releases a shaky breath, looking out to the windows. Rain is thrashing against the glass and every so often, there’s a brief, blinding flash of lightning. It wasn’t easy here at all. Somehow, within the space of six years, she lost her husband, son, and daughter. She might have her son back now, but that doesn’t mean she didn’t go through that pain. She’s taken back by the sudden turn of events - Oliver is peering up at her with a pitiful gaze; he’s offering her comfort now, when Moira’s original intention was for it to be the other way around.

When she takes a couple of steps closer to him, Oliver stands. He’s all lean muscle now; strong, tall and fit. He towers over Moira and she resists the urge to back away, intimidated. Whether this is her Oliver or not, he’s definitely a very different version to the boy who left on the Gambit twelve years ago. He’s older, yes, but he’s also wiser and more mature.

“Now, you're not the same man as when you left.” His eyes dart away. For a fleeting second, Moira thinks that he looks anxious. She reaches out to grasp his hand. “And don't take this the wrong way, but I get the sense that it's for the better.”

Oliver’s Adam’s apple bobs in his throat as he stares down at where their hands are joined. He looks at her as if she’s a ghost. It hurts, but Moira isn’t going to admit that. His voice is heart-wrenchingly defeated as he answers dejectedly, “I'm not so sure.”

Thunder rumbles outside loudly, making Moira jump. She swiftly glances over at Oliver, half-expecting him to flinch away; everybody knows that there was a deadly storm raging over the Pacific the night the Gambit went down. Her suspicions are further confirmed when he barely blinks, just casting a tired look over to the windows. Releasing his mother’s hands, he crosses the room to close one of the windows that is half-open.

Moira takes the opportunity while her son is distracted to sneak over to his bed, flipping the covers back to reveal the piece of paper that Oliver hid from her earlier. She was right in her thought earlier that it’s a photograph. It’s small, the size that you would slip into your wallet to carry around. Considering the bomb that’s been dropped on Oliver today, Moira theorized that it might be a picture of Thea.

For lack of a better word, she is _stunned._

Oliver is in the photo. He looks much more like a distinguished middle-aged man, with short scruff, a buzzcut, and a sensible grey sweater. He’s kneeling on the floor and bracing the head of a newborn baby while staring with obvious heart eyes at the woman cradling the infant, who is recognizably Felicity Smoak, the CEO of Smoak Tech. Smoak appears different from how Moira has seen her on STEM magazine covers and in the news, with glasses and strawberry blonde hair in loose waves. She’s gazing back at Oliver lovingly, one of her hands beneath his - they’re cradling the baby’s head together - and the other resting on the infant’s front _with a very noticeable wedding ring on her finger_. Judging by the pink polka-dot blanket wrapped around the baby, it’s a girl - and the Oliver Queen and Felicity Smoak in this photo are her parents.

“Mom.”

Moira looks up, her eyes wide with her astonishment. She feels numb, and knows she must look shaken to her core. Oliver, on the other hand, appears _terrified_. He’s staring at her, his eyes flitting between her face and the photo frantically. Moira thinks for a second that he might lunge forward and grab the photo from her hand, but instead, he remains frozen in place by the window, like a deer caught in the headlights - like a man caught in a lie.

“What is this?” she chokes out, trying to modulate her tone so she sounds calm, when really her heart is hammering.

“Nothing,” Oliver replies. Quickly. Too quickly. His breathing has increased in speed and now he doesn’t just look afraid, he looks panicked. “Mom, it’s - it’s nothing.” He’s lying.

Fury flashes through her. But Moira knows that anger is not the way she will get through to him. She’s caught him in his lie, but she can’t exactly tell Oliver what she suspects about him. She has to force him to confess. She can tell by the way he keeps nervously flickering his gaze down to check on the photo she’s holding within her hands, which at this point are pale and cold due to how tightly her fingers are clenched.

“Well I suppose, since this is nothing,” she says, schooling her voice into one of nonchalance, “Then I can throw it in the trash.” She’s faking - she wouldn’t dream of actually throwing away something that is so clearly precious to her boy - but Oliver doesn’t know that.

“NO.” His yell is vicious and piercing, bordering on a snarl. He storms towards her with a ferocity that Moira never thought her son could possess, scaring the wits out of her as he snatches the photo from her. But then he catches himself. Oliver must see some form of fear in her expression, because the intense glint in his eyes melts away to leave regret behind. He stumbles back a step, swallowing visibly. “Sorry, I’m sorry,” he grits out. “I - I didn’t mean to shout, I shouldn’t have… I don’t want to fight, Mom. I don’t want to scare you. I’m sorry.” And then he looks down at the photo in his hands and his breath hitches once again in something that resembles a silent whimper.

“Oliver?” Moira whispers, tilting his bowed head up gently when he hangs it. Her precious boy’s beautiful blue eyes are tearful, filled with grief and pain. It’s the most distressed she thinks that she’s ever seen her son - except for when a couple of seconds ago, she tried to take his photograph away. “You weren’t on that island for the last twelve years, were you?”

He releases a sob. It yanks on Moira’s heart in her chest. “No.”

“Where were you?”

“A million miles away. You… you weren’t wrong when you said it seems like I’m on another planet. I am. This… this isn’t…”

“This isn’t your Earth?” When Oliver’s jaw drops, Moira smiles at him fondly. “I’m aware of the theory of the multiverse, Oliver. I just wasn’t aware that it was more than a _theory_. But I must admit… I did suspect.”

“How did you know?” he asks, amazed.

She pauses, trying to determine what to say. There’s something that’s been at the back of her mind, that she’s refused to think about properly since her son came home. “Your behavior has been off,” she finally says. “You expected changes, but changes that were different from the ones that have occurred - as if you’ve already lived this before. And Robert… you must know your father survived the Gambit. He returned to us seven years ago before he was arrested for being the Green Arrow. We divorced back in 2014; he died a year later. But when Robert first came home, he was almost too certain that you had died. That there was no hope for you to have survived. That island, Lian Yu, was swept by the coastguard authorities no less than twenty times. The idea that you would be suddenly found there, twelve years after the Gambit sank -”

“It was unbelievable,” Oliver finishes for her. He casts an annoyed look up at the ceiling, muttering under his breath, “I told him people would be suspicious about the set-up.” He shoots her a sorrowful look. “I’m sorry. I did try and tell him that sending me here and staging the rescue from the island would put you and the others through unnecessary stress, especially as I’d have to leave pretty much immediately after coming back, but he wouldn’t listen.”

“‘He’?” Moira echoes.

“Nobody you have to worry about,” Oliver shakes his head. She emits a huff of frustration that he’s still keeping secrets from her, but she supposes that since this isn’t _technically_ her real son, she can’t demand answers from him. “But you’re right. I’m from an alternate Earth. It’s not too different from this one. The main difference is that I was rescued from the island seven years ago on mine - alone, not with Dad - back in 2012. I’ve been… living my life since then.”

She attempts to imagine a timeline where Oliver was rescued instead of Robert, but finds it near impossible. But she has a bigger question for the man standing in front of her now. “And what are you doing here?”

A stricken expression crosses his face. “I don’t think that would be a good idea.”

“Please, at least tell me about your life,” she pleads, taking Oliver’s hands and leading him towards the bed, so they can sit down together. “As much as you can tell me.”

“I don’t know what to say,” he confesses quietly.

Moira swallows with difficulty. She knows where Oliver can start.

She reaches down to tug lightly on the edge of the photo that Oliver is clinging to like it’s his lifeline. A wildly possessive gleam appears in his gaze and he watches her warily, as if he’s worried she’s going to tear it away from him once again. She immediately regrets threatening to throw it in the trash, even though she was faking the entire time. “This woman. Felicity Smoak. And this… this baby. Oliver, are they your family?”

“Yes,” he answers, barely audible. Oliver’s voice is incredibly soft as he adds, “Mia.”

She blinks, confused. “I’m sorry?”

“The baby.” He tries to clear his throat to get rid of the thickness there. Hesitating, Oliver offers the photo back to her, so she can examine it closer. “My… my daughter. She’s three months old. She’s _amazing_. She can roll over and almost stand and she has the cutest smile and the most wonderful laugh. And her name is Mia.”

No. Is Oliver saying -? “You named your daughter after me?” she cries, tears springing into her eyes. But that realization is followed by another, far more devastating one. “I’m dead on your Earth.”

Oliver’s face crumples. He doesn’t seem to know what to say. He responds with a simple, small nod, but Moira isn’t blind - she can see the guilt he’s trying to hide, see that he blames himself for whatever happened to her. Her alternate Earth counterpart did not die of natural causes, that much is obvious. She wonders if Thea is alive on this Oliver’s Earth, but then decides she would rather not know. Attempting to imagine all the endless number of differences that might exist between her doppelgangers’ lives and her own could drive her insane.

“Tell me about Felicity Smoak,” she says, artfully shifting the subject. “I can’t imagine I was particularly thrilled that you started dating the CEO of Queen Merlyn Enterprises’ main tech competitor,” she tries to joke. But then realizes that it falls flat, because she, of course, has no idea when she died on the man before her’s Earth. She could have died before he even met Felicity. She suspects that might be the case, judging by his slight wince

A wistful, sad smile appears on Oliver’s face, but he seems only too eager to discuss the woman who must be his wife. “Felicity only properly started up Smoak Tech last year, on my Earth. She worked for Queen Consolidated until the company was taken over by a man called Ray Palmer and turned into Palmer Technologies. She became the Vice President and then President, before breaking away to start her own company.” He stokes a fingertip over Felicity’s face in the photo. “She’s so smart. An actual genius, but so modest about it. She graduated summa cum laude from MIT with dual masters. And she’s kind and beautiful and patient and…” His smile grows. Moira is astounded; she doesn’t think she’s ever seen her son look so in love. “She’s remarkable. I’m so lucky to have her. She makes me a better person.”

“She makes you happy?” All she wants is for him to be happy. Even if this isn’t her actual child, her real Oliver, the man before her is still a doppelganger of her son. And she needs her son to be content with his life.

“I’m the happiest and best version of myself when I’m with her,” Oliver says honestly. “The happiest day of my life, second only to the day Mia was born, is the day that we placed wedding rings on each other’s fingers.” He glances down at his left hand sadly. His ring finger is bare, she notices. “I had to take it off before I came here. Your Oliver Queen couldn’t have got married on the island in the last twelve years, after all. I feel naked without it.”

Moira knows how that feels. The day she took off her wedding ring after her and Robert’s divorce, she felt like some giant part had been carved out of her. “Where is it?”

Oliver pulls down the neck of his sweater and unbuttons the top of his Oxford shirt to reveal a fine silver chain around his neck. He doesn’t pull it out, but it’s obvious that his ring is hanging on the end, over his heart. “I always have it with me.”

“I can’t believe you have a wife and child,” Moira whispers, awed.

“Children,” Oliver corrects her gently. She looks at him sharply. “Felicity and I have a son as well. He’s fourteen and _brilliant_. His name is William.”

“You met Felicity before the Gambit on your Earth?”

“No. William’s not Felicity’s son biologically,” he admits. “She’s his stepmom. William’s mom Samantha died in May 2017, so I took custody of him.”

Moira narrows her eyes, frowning. Samantha. Why does that sound so familiar?

Seeing how his mother is concentrating, Oliver adds in a low voice, “Last name Clayton.”  
Ice spreads through her veins. Moira raises a shaking hand over her mouth when the full name _Samantha Clayton_ rings a bell in her head - and not just a bell, a warning siren. Two years before the Gambit went down, her Oliver got a woman by that name pregnant. It seems the same happened on this Oliver’s Earth as well - except on his Earth, the woman decided to keep the child rather than adopt it out, apparently. Moira can still remember how she desperately tried to convince Samantha to stay in the city and allow her son to have partial custody. She even offered her two million dollars to get a new apartment, and also monthly payments once the baby was born. Samantha ended up telling this Earth’s Oliver that she lost the fetus before disappearing, nowhere to be found.

“So on your Earth, Miss Clayton didn’t vanish, and you raised the baby with her,” Moira says, relieved that the version of her son before her actually got the chance.

Oliver startles. “What? No. You paid her off for two million dollars to tell me she had a miscarriage and move away,” he replies harshly, scooting away from her on the bed and standing, putting distance between them. The expression on his face is one Moira has never seen before - contempt. And it’s towards _her._ And it’s understandable why he’s so angry. She’s appalled that his Earth’s version of her would have done that. Oliver seems to realize that he’s projecting his fury onto the wrong person, because he glances away in frustration. “Not that it was actually _you_ you.”

Moira chooses her words carefully. “I’m sure your Earth’s me was only trying to protect you, and Samantha and the baby.” She pauses and then adds shamefully, “Although why I’d try and protect you from an unborn child, I don’t know. I’m so sorry for what the Moira of that Earth put you through, Oliver. It can’t have been easy for you.”

Her son stares at her with an unreadable expression, before his shoulders slump. “It’s strangely cathartic to hear you apologize, despite the fact you’re not her,” he mutters. Running his hands through his hair, Oliver releases a faint sound of exhaustion. “I didn’t even find out that William exists until 2015. And I barely got to be his father before he left us.”

“Left?”

“He chose to go and live with his grandparents last spring, instead of with Felicity and I,” he sighs. “Our lives were just… too dangerous for him. He was constantly in danger.” When Moira tilts her head, bewildered, he elaborates, “We were the targets of a dangerous criminal and his organization, called the Ninth Circle. William just wanted a normal life, and we weren’t able to give that to him. In retrospect, it truly was no life for a child.”

“But you and Felicity had a baby?”

“It was unplanned,” Oliver tells her rather sheepishly. “And she only found out after William left us. And besides, we went into hiding before Mia was born. We were planning on taking back custody of William eventually, but never got the chance.”

Moira nods, pretending that she understands when she really doesn’t. This Oliver is practically a stranger to her. There is one thing that is massively confusing her, though. “Whatever you’re doing here must be very important, if it’s driven you to leave your wife and children on another Earth,” she muses quietly.

That’s the wrong thing to say. Tears fill Oliver’s eyes and he falls silent as he bows his head to peer down at the photo in his hand. Moira holds her breath as she watches his chest jerk with several shallow, quiet sobs. After a good ten seconds, he tucks the photo away in his jeans pocket, scrubbing at his face, which is pale with fatigue despite his crying. Whatever he’s going through, he’s been emotionally wrecked by. The Oliver before her has been shattered. She can tell that he hasn’t left his family by choice - he’s been forced.

“Oh, sweetheart,” she murmurs softly. Oliver sinks into her embrace gratefully and clings to her with the despair of a man who has lost all hope. He buries his face in her shoulder. Moira squeezes her eyes shut, enjoying it for as long as she possibly can. This is the only Oliver she’s going to get to hug ever again, after all. 

Finally, he speaks, and it’s with a defeated, cracking voice. “Mom, when we were growing up, if you had to leave me and Thea to protect us… would you have done it?”

Oh. Oh no. So the reason Oliver has left Felicity, Mia and William is that he’s on some sort of mission to protect them. Moira realizes suddenly what part of the picture she’s been missing. On his Earth, this Oliver is the Green Arrow. She kicks herself for not realizing it sooner - Robert survived the Gambit and came home to become a vigilante fighting for justice in this city, so it makes complete sense that in a world where Oliver survived instead, he was the one to become the Arrow, and later the Green Arrow. His comments about criminals and organizations and failing to give his son a safe life all have context now. He wasn’t kidding when he said that his life was too dangerous for children. It’s killing Oliver to be away from his wife and kids, but he’s on some form of hero’s quest here on this Earth, doing something to ensure that he can protect his family - either now, or in the future.

She’s suddenly overcome with emotion at the thought of her boy being such a selfless and dedicated husband and father that he would travel across universes to guarantee his loved ones are kept out of harm’s way. He must be torn over his decision to leave them and missing Felicity, Mia, and William so much that he’s beginning to question his choices. She can’t imagine the hardships and pain he must be suffering, alone in this strange, familiar but not-so-familiar world.

Pulling back, Moira cups his face tenderly, offering what she hopes is a reassuring smile. “Oliver, whether right or wrong, everything I've ever done was to protect my children. It's all a parent can do.” She strokes her thumbs over his cheeks, wiping away the tears that have accumulated there. “But I think you know that. You already understand. Whatever you are doing here, if you are doing it to protect your wife, son, and daughter - to ensure that William and Mia can grow up safely in the future - then you are a _good_ father. Laying your life on the line to keep them safe… that’s the most heroic thing you can do. And I say that as the wife of the late Green Arrow… and as a doppelganger mother of another.” When more tears slip down Oliver’s face, she continues softly, “I don’t know how your Earth’s version of me died, but I would hope that her last thoughts were of protecting you and your Thea.”

Oliver starts freely crying. “Mom, I'm so sorry,” he weeps, hugging her again.

She’s knocked breathless by the force he uses to embrace her, cradling his head as she used to when he was just a small child, desperate for comfort when he was injured or upset. Oliver doesn’t even try to muffle his sobs as he trembles, distraught to a point that Moira never thought he would allow himself to show.

“Everything's okay,” she soothes. “This may not be your home, but you’re safe here, with me. I’ll take care of you, Oliver, as long as you’re on this Earth. And you can talk to me about your life, your wife, and your children, anytime you want. I will always, _always_ listen.”

“I missed you so much,” he whispers, echoing his words to her in the hospital room yesterday night.

Kissing his forehead, she smooths his hair back. “Oh, I’ve missed you too, sweetheart,” she replies thickly. “You’re exhausted; try and close your eyes and get some rest tonight. We can talk more in the morning, alright?”

Nodding, Oliver backs away and takes a heavy seat on the edge of the bed, resting his head in his hands and his elbows on his thighs. Moira leans down to kiss him on the forehead one last time before making her exit, determining that he needs some time alone to think as well as sleep. Oliver has given her a lot to muse over, and she knows that she won’t be sleeping well tonight - not with so much on her mind.

As she closes the door behind her quietly, Moira exhales slowly, leaning against it. Raising her head to look up at the ceiling, she whispers, “Don’t worry, Felicity… I’ll make sure your husband takes care of himself while he is here.”

It’s probably pointless, but it makes her feel better. And she knows that if the alternate Earth Felicity Smoak could hear her, it might offer her some comfort to know that her Oliver is being looked after.

* * *

Days later, when Tommy has been arrested for being the Dark Archer and attempting to destroy the city, Oliver has said a tearful goodbye as he needs to return to his Earth, and the universe is collapsing around her, Moira’s last, fierce words to her son are, “Whatever is happening, whatever’s coming, you have to fight, Oliver. Fight to live for your wife and children. They need you. I love you so much -”

Before reality fades into darkness.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading, i would really appreciate kudos and a comment xxx
> 
> tumblr: @alexiablackbriar13  
twitter: @lexiblackbriar


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